Ya know how physically ill people are encouraged to “take a sick day”? Such compassion isn’t shown when you have a mental imbalance. There’s no leeway for “feeling low”. No tolerance for being so stressed you’re having random panic attacks. No “there,there” pat on the shoulder when it’s all you can do not to sink to the floor under the weight of how dark your own mind is…
I definitely needed a “mental health sick” day today. I don’t know what happened but I got my ass kicked by a band of mood assassins with mad skills. Getting my kid to school was all I could do. I came back home and tried to get comfy but I couldn’t get manage that or get warm. I couldn’t enjoy a smoke. Then my stepmonster called to let me know my former father in law passed away and that made me so sad. He was such a wonderful man. It upset me and I was stressed already (the car was acting funny when I took her to school) so I took a Xanax. Even though I had planned errands today. I ended up falling asleep.
I woke up several times but apparently needed the rest because I didn’t pry myself up until noon. Hate napping. Lately it’s become a once a week thing. I keep saying to myself it’s all the med changes and stress mucking it all up…I hope that’s all it is. It has just been one of those days where my mind is dark without a direct cause and my entire body feels heavy and leaden. Just refilling some ice cube trays was taxing and yeah, I know how pathetic that sounds.
Then it got worse for I picked my kid up and had two random panic attacks. The kind where it feels like an invisible kick to the gut and you can’t catch your breath or understand why suddenly something you do every day is causing you to spaz out…On the way home Spook asked why the car smelled bad and I saw steam or smoke coming from under the hood. When we made it to the drive I popped the hood and something was definitely hissing and steaming or smoking and I know fuck all about cars…Called dad and stepmonster, they said to check the fluids. That was when I saw as I kept pouring in coolant it just leaks out from under the car faster than I can fill it. FUCK. I cannot catch a break.
So I am packing a gallon of water in the car and driving it til it blows up BECAUSE R TOLD ME THE RED CAR WAS ROAD READY AND NAGGED ME ABOUT THE LICENSE ON IT…The cockweasel says no, it’s not ready, it needs a couple of hoses and this and an oil change and…WHAT THE EVERLASTING FUCK? If it wasn’t ready, why nag on me about this shit???? Now he’s all sad sacking cos he got hit with taxes and business has slowed down and he doesn’t have any time to meet all the demands we’re making of him…And I am driving an iffy car, while waiting for him to get his shit together so I can get the stuff done at the DMV.
I am super pissed as I was lead to believe I needed to get it off Ursula’s property ASAP. But if he won’t give me the key because it “still needs work” and mom is on my ass about getting rid of the brown car so she can transfer her license to her new car….
“Good intentions” is just a euphamism for “I’m gonna make your life miserable but you can’t complain because I meant well.”
The Mundanes should be so forgiving of bipolar mood swings where we mean well but things go wonky…
I am just…honestly…Overwhelmed. The housework is piling up. This car thing is driving me nuts. (But thanks to those kind souls who contributed to the fundraiser, I can at least get her on the road legally as soon as my jackass friend the mechanic can fit the car into his schedule.)
It only got worse tonight.My kid was playing with a friend, then that friend wanted to go play with her cousin elsewhere, so my kid had a half hour long bawling screaming fit, punching herself in the head. I actually gave her a swat on the butt for that one, if only to get her attention and make her stop. Ridiculous.
So I started to panic and had to do my anxiety exercises. She kept screaming and bawling so she was hyperventilating so I had to talk her down with breathe in, breathe out…
Just a big ball of suckage this day.
To make matters even worse (I misspelled my own name yesterday, does it get worse?) I missed a deadline on some paperwork so her food stamps got canceled. I gotta go fix that but how can I when everyday is a “will the car work” lottery.
I got another identical notice (that makes FIVE) about the donor being garnished for support but the clock didn’t even start counting until March 8th so it could be June before I see a cent from him, never mind the Jan. and Feb and March he was supposed to mail in himself to keep current until the garnishment kicks in. I don’t know any amount of money is worth this fucking stress. Everyone told me I’d feel so good holding him accountable and it’d give Spook a better life and…It’s just a bunch of red tape strangling me right now.
As is my kid’s tantrum de jour. Now she is all but swearing at me for not having spare batteries for her LeapPad. She thinks I am gonna risk it with that stupid car to go buy her batteries. Yeah, right.
I know my whining about money and all the stress gets old. Damn, it’s old to me, too. I am always waiting for life to improve, even the tiniest bit, but I have to jump through so many hoops, by the time it all aligns, it takes one little thing for it all to start slipping again.
I want a job. Seriously. I want out of this disability pit where everyday I have someone or something remind me I am somehow subhuman for being on disability, for getting food stamps. My own kid asks me why I “won’t” work. I know I am a decent-ish person yet this shit has me filled with self loathing on a daily basis. And the way I am so med resistant, I don’t see any end to it because I can’t be the one thing a job requires. Stable.
It’s all frustrating and stressing and…Fuck a big fancy bag. I’m tired of talking about it. Living it is more than enough.
On an ending note…I am leaving the fundraiser site up. I am still several hundred into debt to my dad and R, so any tiny bit can help along the way. I guess the best thing I can say in response to “begging for money”…If the shoe were on the other foot, I wouldn’t hesitate to help a friend in need, even if it was a five dollar bill or a home cooked meal.
I like to think there are others out there who think the same way instead of obsessing over ten dollar Lattes and fifty dollar lattes.
Maybe that’s why I go out as rarely as possible. I don’t want to be proven wrong, to witness that people really are as bad as my depressive brain says they are. If I lose that last glimmer of hope, that sliver of faith…One day the depression’s gonna win.
I need to believe in the fairytale of kindness.